


Envy | Ruby Red Kisses or How Envy Messes With Your Head

by Flutesong



Series: Seven Shades of Sin [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bitterness, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Homophobia, Jealous Ron Weasley, M/M, Paranoia, Ron Weasley Bashing, Ron Weasley-centric, Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutesong/pseuds/Flutesong
Summary: Ron, the youngest of six brothers and best friend of Harry Potter, has always felt overshadowed. Years of insecurity has slowly eaten away at him until, finally, it has combusted into jealous paranoia. Can Ron get a grip of his jealousy and rage, or will he ruin all his relationships, one by one?Envy— the sad or resentful covetousness towards the traits or possessions of someone else.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Seven Shades of Sin [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677472
Comments: 34
Kudos: 123
Collections: Seven Shades of Drarry





	Envy | Ruby Red Kisses or How Envy Messes With Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Sin anthology](/series/1677472), the first in a series of planned collaborative projects within the [Seven Shades of Drarry](/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry) collective.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2emrdGIthVVBwflHmUO4Yo?si=_dQ6V1ITQH-abE_5ChF3lw); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.

_So on we worked, and waited for the light,_

_And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;_

_And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,_

_Went home and put a bullet through his head._

By Edwin Arlington Robinson

* * *

1

* * *

At almost thirty, Ronald Weasley was a happy man. He had a beautiful and brilliant wife in Hermione; two healthy, beautiful children; and was a partner and manager in charge of the integration and implementation of Muggle technology in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ products, which pleased and interested his father and Hermione’s parents. He was wealthy in his own right; and had friends and relations by the score. If his love of food had made him a shade pudgy, it was not noticeable in his well-made clothes, and Hermione only flattened her lips in a thin line when he passed his plate for thirds.

Surprising everyone, Harry Potter had not become an Auror after the war. He’d moved into Grimmauld Place, brought Andromeda and Teddy there, and proceeded, with her help, to gut the inside. They kept only what Black memorabilia she wanted and arranged for Narcissa Black Malfoy to choose what she wanted from her seat before the Floo in Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was under house arrest and couldn’t come by in person. Harry and Andromeda remodelled the interior into two large and luxurious flats. This ensured they both had their privacy, but Harry was close enough to see them almost every day and help raise Teddy.

In his element, Kreacher served both flats, since neither of the tenants had much for him to do, and lived with his locket on and Mrs. Black’s noisy portrait in a large soundproof section of the airy attic.

While the remodelling had gone on, Harry hired tutors and studied to pass his Muggle GCSE and A-Level tests, and went on to university. He became, unbelievably to those who knew him in Hogwarts, an editor for a well-respected publishing house. He’d taken on the mantle of introducing the magical world to Muggle fiction, even getting several into the curriculum for the much-expanded Muggle Studies NEWTS at Hogwarts, after which, Flourish and Blotts also added a Muggle literature section to the store.

After almost twelve years, Harry had yet to make a speech, sign an autograph, or otherwise cash in on his celebrity. His entire relationship with the wizard press was to say, “leave me alone,” year after year on an almost weekly basis. Not that the press gave up, they simply continued to print articles, admiring or scurrilous, and entirely devoid of facts.

Draco Malfoy had left the country, some said to avoid visiting Lucius in Azkaban, who’d been returned to finish his sentence dating from the fiasco at the Ministry, or staying cooped up with his mother at the manor. He’d returned after five years with a legal degree from a magical Canadian college and proceeded to set up a practice in one of the elegant storefronts on Executive Place near Diagon Alley. He lived above the office, had a reputation as cutthroat on behalf of his clients, sponsored a youth Quidditch league, and collected rare whiskies and liqueurs.

Ron watched his wife and Malfoy enter the restaurant where he’d been having lunch. Without noticing him seated behind a striped red and white fern, Malfoy pulled out a chair for Hermione and sat at one of the small circular tables. They ordered without studying the menu and began an animated conversation. Ron noticed they both wore small smiles, and that Malfoy’s cheeks were pinked, whether from the conversation or the wind on the way to lunch. Ron wondered what they were talking about. He knew their interests sometimes overlapped between Hermione’s legal work at the Ministry and Malfoy’s cases. Ron had not known they lunched together or that their comfort level was so relaxed with each other, and he wondered when that had started. He could have gotten up and joined them of course, but found he’d rather observe them for a while first. When Hermione’s napkin slid off her lap, Malfoy picked it up, motioned for the waiter to bring a fresh one and waited while she placed it on her lap before going back to their conversation.

While he watched them, Ron ordered dessert. He liked the pumpkin cheesecake here very much. When the waiter had come and gone, Ron saw Harry walk in. In the usual way, married couples with kids and their single male friend had grown a bit apart and didn’t see each other as often as he’d imagined they would when he was younger. Ron almost waved, but Harry walked up to the table where Hermione and Malfoy were seated and returning their smiles, sat down. He must have said something amusing because all of them laughed.

Ron wondered when Malfoy started to laugh at Harry’s jokes.

Harry didn’t even tell good jokes.

Malfoy withdrew a book from his coat pocket, and Hermione became even more animated. She directed a beaming smile at both men. Ron felt a stab. He thought she only directed that smile at him and the children.

Ron ordered a coffee to extend his stay in the restaurant. He wasn’t concerned, just curious, but he didn’t contemplate going over to his wife’s table. He wished he had one of George’s miniature Extendable Ears in his pocket. He didn’t believe anything untoward was going on. He was merely curious, anyone would be, after all. After another ten minutes or so, Malfoy paid the check and he and Hermione rose to their feet. Harry rose too, gave Hermione a quick hug and clasped Malfoy’s hand with both of his for a long moment. Harry waited until they reached the door and sat down again, still smiling.

Ron stooped behind the fern and made his way ‘round, approached Harry as if he’d just arrived using the side door. Harry smiled up at him, not looking at all bothered or guilty. Ron sat, waved off the approaching waiter lest the man indicated Ron had already eaten.

“Don’t you want some lunch?” Harry asked.

“Nah,” Ron replied. “On my way back to the shop and saw you through the window. Thought I’d say hello.”

“Hi,” Harry grinned. “I’m taking the afternoon off and hopping over to Belfast to have a drink with Seamus. He’s had a tough time adjusting to things since the divorce.”

Ron, who wasn’t concerned about Seamus at the moment, nodded wisely. “Yeah, it’s bound to be hard finding out your wife was cheating on you for years.”

Harry looked down at his hand as he picked up his cup of tea. “She said it was only in retaliation for his excesses.”

Ron shrugged. “Got divorced anyway, didn’t they? Should have just done that from the start instead of tearing everyone apart demanding their friends support only one or the other.”

Harry frowned. “You think they did that? Seemed low-key to me.”

Ron harrumphed. “Well, you’ve never been a married man, have you? Or even a man going through a big breakup. It’s not the same with the kind of casual fucking around you normally do.”

“I didn’t say I knew what they were feeling exactly, just that I didn’t see any histrionics or extreme behaviour, well and nothing exploded. Besides, I’m taking time to see Seamus as often as I can,” Harry replied.

“Is that a dig?” Ron hissed. “Some of us have more time than others to skive off work anytime they want.”

Harry put his cup down slowly. “I can’t imagine what’s crawled up your arse today, Ron. I’m not going to participate, though.”

“High and mighty these days, aren't you? I remember when you cared.”

Harry placed several galleons on the table by his cup. Shaking his head at Ron, he got up and left without another word.

Ron knocked over the cup and walked out the other door.

* * *

2

* * *

Ron checked in with George, but was too agitated to remain in the silence of his office. He left for the day, deciding to visit his wife at the Ministry and then bring the kids home from his mother’s house earlier than usual. He apparated into the Atrium of the Ministry, glared at the statue of Harry which was much too large. He’d always thought so, and in the past, Harry had agreed. Ron shrugged irritably. These days, for all he knew, Harry might admire his over-sized, fat head.

Hermione's secretary greeted him and asked him to sit. She hurriedly knocked and entered the inner sanctum. Hermione came out with her, a wide smile on her face. “Ron, what a nice surprise! What brings you this way today?”

He rose, kissing her cheek. “A man can visit his working wife on a whim, can’t he?”

Hermione flushed a bit. “Of course he can. All wives are working wives, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron replied. “I know, because you always tell me that. Any chance you can get off early? We can get the kids and have a picnic at the indoor play park.”

Hermione frowned, “Sorry, love,” she said. “I’m up to my eyes with a case that’s been called before the Wizengamot a week early.”

“I hope you took time for lunch,” Ron said, watching her closely.

“Yes, I had a quick bite. I hope to get home before you put the kids down for the night,” she said and pecked him on the cheek. “I’ve got to get back to my desk.”

Ron felt her sleeve slide out of his hand. He grimaced. “Sure,” he said. “Run back to your paperwork.”

“Oh, Ron.” Hermione paused and half turned back in his direction. “I’ll get home as soon as I can.”

He nodded. She looked at him a bit uncertainly, but turned and went back into her office.

Ron didn’t pick up his kids early. He went to the scandalous new strip joint at the dodgiest end of Knockturn Alley instead. He’d only been there previously on stag nights with his mates, and wondered if the afternoon show would be as risque. He found the place busier than he expected and yet, somewhat dull. Most of the patrons seemed to be middle-aged men sitting alone with numerous empty glasses in front of them. Perhaps because he wasn’t there with a happy crowd, he found the witches, even with glamoured enhancements, to be a great deal less provocative or sexy than his previous visits.

He ordered and slung back a whisky and ordered a double. By the time he picked up the kids he was worse for wear, had a stabbing headache, and gave his mother short shrift when she commented on the smell of alcohol.

All in all, he thought when he collapsed on the couch after putting the kids down for a nap, it hadn’t been a good day.

* * *

3

* * *

In the late February afternoon chill, Draco waited outside the Muggle building where Harry worked. He was always amused by the Muggles hurrying passed on the sidewalk, talking on their phones or the women wearing trainers with their tailored office gear to be able to walk faster. He’d long since given up judging them as inferior. His years in Canada and being in a relationship with Harry since shortly after his return had taught him there was much to admire in Muggle cleverness overcoming problems that he easily solved with magic. He waited patiently, Harry would meet him as soon as he could possibly manage. No one magical had ever noticed him waiting here despite the occasional Prophet reporter or photographer who wanted to try their luck that Harry Potter would actually talk to them.

Sitting atop the picnic table in the small park across from Harry’s building, Draco swung his legs in counterpoint to the hiss from the automatic doors opening and closing. He and Harry often laughed when they entered or left it together, quipping, “Look, it’s magic!”

Draco never imagined he would laugh with Harry and be so intimate they would have private jokes. They might be dumb jokes, and Draco often said so, but he treasured them. With Lucius’ demise, something had broken loose in Draco and while he had some sorrow for the man he used to worship, he’d felt free from bonds he’d never acknowledged. His mother never understood and tried unceasingly to rekindle his admiration and follow through on his responsibility to the Malfoy name to marry and produce an heir. Draco shook his head wryly, he rarely thought about marriage or children and wasn’t convinced that his several times removed second cousins wouldn’t carry on the Malfoy name with more success. Keeping the manor wasn’t a priority either, it hadn’t really felt like home after the war.

Harry came out the door, Malfoy joined him and they walked arm in arm onward towards the place they’d chosen for a drink and a spot of supper.

* * *

Ron woke groggily to a sharp poke from Hermione to hear the kids screaming their heads off upstairs. He realised he’d fallen asleep and had no idea how long they had been crying.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hermione hissed as she quickly took off her jacket and headed for the stairs. “Did you drink an entire brewery?”

Ron shook his head and regretted it. He rose and went into the bathroom, stuck his head under a tap of cold water and ground his teeth. He was a loving father and rarely caused the children to cry. Every father was occasionally like that, weren’t they? Why should he be raked over the coals for the one mistake?

Ron felt his gorge rise along with his irritation. He knew if he vomited, he’d have to clean it up. Hermione never did. She simply shut the door and used another loo for her and the children until he did it. By the time he emerged, the kids were quiet.

He cooked dinner, all the while feeling vaguely nauseated and put upon.

Hermione seated the children, Hugo in his high chair and Rose in her booster seat. She cut up a banana, giving half for Rose to start on and mashed the other half for Hugo to squish in his fingers on the way to his mouth.

“I had lunch today at the Salty Cheese,” she said. “The special was Maryland-style crab cakes. It was delicious.”

Ron nodded. He was allergic to crab, so Hermione ate it when he wasn’t at the same table. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he said, straining pasta.

Hermione smiled, “I met up with Draco. He had the same and said in Vancouver they were made a little differently.”

“Really,” Ron drawled. “ _Draco_ said, did he?”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione sighed. “If you’d talk to him sometime, you’d see he’s changed so much for the better since school. You might even like him.”

Ron placed the pasta and a bowl of sauce on the table. “Noodles,” he said in Hugo’s ear.

“Nunu,” Hugo gummed happily.

“Happy boy,” Ron joked.

“Now,” Hermione said and sighed.

* * *

Harry ordered a glass of orange juice. “Had too much alcohol today already. Seamus can really stow away the drink.”

Draco grinned. Harry was such a lightweight and Draco wasted no time in promptly telling him so.

“Seamus’s is Irish,” Harry said as if that was what made the difference.

Draco laughed. Harry shrugged.

They moved on to the restaurant, the Hostess sat them where Draco had requested when he made the reservation. Harry didn’t open his menu, a serious expression clouding his good humour.

“Ron came into the Salty Cheese after you and Hermione left. He was in a right ugly mood, trying to pick a fight.” Harry sighed. “You’d think he’d be spectacularly happy these days. He has everything he’d ever wanted when he was a kid.”

Draco frowned. “The best I can tell is that he’s still comparing himself to others most of the time. In his head, he doesn’t come in first place. Maybe it’s younger brother syndrome or something?”

“He’s everyone’s favourite Weasley,” Harry replied.

“Yeah, but for being kind of a goofy good-old-boy,” Draco said. “Not for his successes or inventiveness. He’s got plenty of both, of course.”

Harry nodded. “Perhaps. I still hate to see him on edge so often. Hermione’s always trying to get me to visit them more, but I don’t want either of them to see how much he bugs me. He even throws out barbs when the kids are excited to see me.”

Draco folded his hands, looking down at them on the table. “He’s always been this way, Harry. There’s just something that eats at him to compare and find himself wanting. It’s not real to anyone but him.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Let’s eat. An all-alcohol diet doesn’t agree with me.”

* * *

4

* * *

Ron was less happy than the last time he’d sat behind the red and white fern. Once again, Malfoy and Hermione had come in flushed and smiling, ordered without consulting the menu. _Probably crab again_ , Ron thought and grimaced. He felt confused and hurt. What did they need to talk about so intimately? Why didn’t they meet in Hermione’s office? They were both pinked, Ron hoped it was the colder wind today that caused it.

He had to concede that Malfoy had grown into a good-looking man. He was tall, but not taller than Ron himself. He was still slender, but even beneath his robes, he gave the impression of wiry strength and musculature. Not really a seeker anymore. Ron wondered if he got his workouts coaching the young players on the team he sponsored. He wouldn’t put it past him to use the kids for his own ends. Malfoys didn’t give without getting. Ron knew that for a hard, cold fact.

He heard Hermione laugh lightly and say Malfoy had a great idea and they would certainly use it. Ron ground his teeth.

Once again, Harry came in, dropped a kiss on Hermione’s cheek and then dropped another on Malfoy’s cheek. They all laughed. Ron stood up, but they didn’t notice. He left without dessert.

* * *

George was not amused by his younger brother’s ill humour. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked after Ron had interrupted him several times at the board meeting that afternoon.

Ron looked at the others at the conference table, not noticing or appreciating the expensive mahogany and intricate inlay of the table like he usually did.

“Why does Harry get away with missing most of the meetings? He’s an original partner,” he growled, still feeling a spurt of anger over the fact that Harry had given the twins the winnings from the Triwizard Tournament all those years ago. All he’d gotten was a set of dress robes.

George sighed, Lee Jordan looked out the window, and Hamilton Makepeace groaned and said. “He’s busy in the Muggle world, Ron. You know that. He’s tried to resign a dozen times.”

“Maybe we should let him,” Ron said through his teeth. “He’s useless anyway.”

Lee stood up and leaned over the table into Ron’s face. “You need to go get a checkup at St. Mungos,” he said. “Something’s very wrong with you these days.”

“Fuck you,” Ron said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m not the problem here.”

Hamilton picked up the gavel from beside George’s hand and banged the table. “Meeting’s over. I wasn’t at Hogwarts with all of you, but as far as my vote counts, Harry can make or miss as many meetings as he likes.” He turned and left the room.

“Good going, Ron,” George said, he and Lee left together.

* * *

On Saturday, Ron woke up to find the house quiet and Hermione having tea in the kitchen reading the Prophet. “Where are the kids?” he asked, yawning and reaching for an orange.

“They’re with your mum,” she said smiling and passed the sport’s page to his side of the table. “Ginny scored three times yesterday and the Harpies won.”

Ron smiled. “Great!” He peeled the orange, then picked up the paper.

“We have an appointment with Healer McTavish at eleven,” Hermione said.

Ron put down the paper and looked at his wife. ”Are you pregnant?”

Hermione smiled, “Not this time. It’s your turn. You haven’t been yourself for weeks, love. I’m worried.”

“You mean George and my mother got together and complained about me,” Ron said dismissively. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’ve been irritable and unhappy. I’m worried.” Hermione insisted.

Ron put down the orange and with both hands on the table, said emphatically, “I’m fine. A bloke’s allowed to be a bit off once in a while. Maybe I’m just sick and tired of being the joke in the room!”

“That’s not true,” Hermione gasped. “You’re a respectable, established man in his prime, Ron. No one thinks anything else. Your whole family loves and supports you. You’ve never been a joke.”

“Right,” Ron said. “That’s why you want to spend so much time with me, working every night until after ten. That’s why George has meetings without me present, why Harry never comes round, but meets you for lunch, why Malfoy makes you giggle and my whole _loving_ family comes to you with their issues.”

Hermione looked at him with wide tearful brown eyes. “I don’t understand why you are bitter all of a sudden! None of that is remotely true.”

“Sure,” he replied. “You have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ve seen you, ‘Mione, dining on crab cakes and having a grand time at the Salty Cheese on a Tuesday. Giggling when Harry, _The-Harry-Potter_ , kisses the ferret in front of all and sundry!”

Hermione folded her hands on top of the newspaper. “I have been keeping something from you.”

“Ha!” Ron yelled, “I knew it!”

Undeterred, Hermione went on, “It’s not what you think, although how you could think I would ever betray you is simply impossible to consider. Harry and Draco are in a relationship, a romantic relationship, and have been for years. I suspected, but only found out for sure a few weeks ago. They have just recently decided to come out of the closet together. There’s been gossip about Draco for years, of course. Harry has simply been seen as solitary or, by the tripe the press prints, practising polygamy with Muggles and having a dozen children! They wanted me to wait before I told anyone, even you. They are very concerned about the hoopla it will cause.”

“Even me, huh?” Ron said coldly. “I’m your husband. You do not keep secrets from your husband, Hermione, that’s just one hundred per cent wrong. Harry’s been my best friend for over twenty years and he wants you to keep me in the dark? Fuck that.”

“What am I?” Hermione exclaimed. “A Flobberworm? He’s been a best friend for me too, and I was their test case, as it were, because I am at peace with Draco.”

Ron screwed up his face. “Bully for you. At peace with Malfoy, indeed. With everything he did back at school, there should never be peace with the bastard, or have you forgotten the slurs and sneaky plots?”

“I’ve forgotten nothing. He was a terrible child, but he only accomplished his worst when the Death Eaters got in. He never killed anyone, never fought for Voldemort in battle, and went away right after. He’s learned a lot, all of us have, and none of us is exactly what we thought we might be when we were kids. He has expressed shame for his behaviour many times and he would do it to you too, if you gave him a chance. I’m not wasting energy hating him anymore.” Hermione sighed. “Look how much the kids love you, Ron. Can you imagine either of them choosing to support anyone you hated? Draco stayed in step with Lucius and Narcissa until Voldemort fell and then he made his break.”

Ron banged his fist on the table, making Hermione jump in surprise. “There are unforgivable things. You might believe in peace and harmony among enemies, but I know better. You and Harry are being fooled.” He took a breath. “And Fred and Dumbledore are still dead.”

Hermione reached out and took Ron’s clenched fist. “You’re not well, dearest. This isn’t like you and hasn’t been for weeks. Please let the Healer check you out.”

Ron stared directly at his wife and spoke slowly, “I do not need a Healer. I need you to stop undermining me and our marriage with your bizarre choice of friends. Quit feasting on bloody crab-meat and come home after work like a normal woman does, to be with your family.”

Hermione withdrew her hand and pressed it to her trembling lips. “If I didn’t believe you needed help, I would take the kids and walk out now. I wouldn’t return either. How dare you say these things to me? How dare you?!” She folded her arms across her chest and stared passed Ron at the wind chimes swinging in the cold breeze and sounding a cheery tune.

Ron rose, grabbed his winter cloak and left the house.

Hermione let her tears flow and pondered how to make Ron see sense.

* * *

5

* * *

Ron walked fast, face in the wind and eventually felt himself calm down. Maybe he’d been unfair to talk to Hermione that way, but Malfoy was a bastard and Ron was just trying to protect her.

And Harry was gay? He shook his head. There was just no way. The man had loved Ginny, dated women, and graced the cover of Witch Weekly at least twice a month even all these years later. If he hadn’t been able to throw off Imperius, he’d believe Malfoy had Harry in thrall. Ron sat on a large rock by the side of the road despite the wind. A flash of Harry and Malfoy cavorting in a bed hit him, tanned and pale skin sliding, hands grabbing at each other. It was disgusting. He resented that they were making him think about it. He wasn’t homophobic, he just had better things to think about than man-on-man intimacy. Maybe he would go to the Healer and have the man explain to Hermione how wrong it was to encourage homosexual behaviour. He nodded his head definitely. Yeah, he would do that.

He walked slowly home, unsurprised to see a note on the table saying his wife had taken the kids to see Luna and the twins. He checked the larder and finally sat down to eat breakfast.

* * *

Draco turned to Harry and used a finger to trace his way down his lightning bolt scar, over the slightly crooked nose, and on to his lips. Harry smiled beneath his finger. Neither of them was morning people, but their gentle rituals to start the day were both reassuring and helpful. “It’s Saturday,” Draco murmured. “No rush to get up.”

Harry smiled and turned his head to meet Draco’s eyes. Harry winked and said, “You hinting at something, dear?” and chuckled.

“Not I,” Draco said airily. “I’m not the sex fiend in this relationship.”

Harry laughed, turning suddenly and capturing Draco with his body. They slept in the nude so there were no pesky pyjamas in the way. “Sex fiend, indeed. I’m not the pushy git in this bed.”

Draco licked his lips and then Harry’s shoulder. “I think you’re being pushy right now.”

“Only because you lay there so prettily and dare me.” Harry kissed Draco and there were no more words, just sighs, grunts, and the sound of skin against skin.

* * *

“Are you ready for breakfast?” Draco asked.

“I’m starving,” Harry said after a round of damp intimacy in the bath.

“New store of bacon in the fridge,” Draco replied and continued to dry off.

“Lazy sod,” Harry replied, but obediently headed for the kitchen with a plan to make a full English. Draco would get the Sunday edition of the London Times and warm pastries tomorrow.

* * *

After being gone a while to calm down, Hermione and the kids came in with a flurry of icy wind and runny noses. Ron had lunch ready and the house smelled of cinnamon toast and hot chocolate. He helped get the kids out of their coats and settled at the table.

“Cinna, Cinna,” the baby chanted.

“He takes after you to a frightening degree,” Hermione grinned.

“Cinnamon, silly,” Rose said to her brother.

“Silly cinna!” Hugo cried.

They all laughed.

Ron agreed to see the Healer, but asked that Hermione let him go in without her for the first part. She agreed.

“Mr Weasley,” Healer McTavish said, “homosexuality is not as prevalent in Wizarding society as much as it is in the Muggle world. But fully seven per cent of wizards and witches are homosexual to varying degrees. It’s not deviant or unhealthy as long as the relationship is not violent. I cannot agree with you and won’t advise your wife to stop her friendships. There is no risk of disease to you, you know. Or to your family.”

“But, but…,” Ron stuttered, he’d been so sure McTavish would validate him.

“Mr Weasley, relax a bit. Whatever your personal dictates might be, this level of anger and distress is simply not good for you.” He opened the door and waved Hermione into the exam room. “Your husband is under a great deal of stress. I’ve recommended a few changes to his diet, some mild tranquillity potions and some advice about getting enough sleep, and keeping regular hours. I’m sure I can count on your support.”

He handed Hermione several slips of parchment. Hermione reached out and took the papers in one hand and Ron’s arm with her other hand.

“There’s nought to worry about, madam,” McTavish said. “Mr Weasley is young and strong. Getting overwhelmed by life is not uncommon, you know. He’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Hermione nodded, Ron was silent, and the Healer opened the door and ushered them out to his receptionist’s office.

* * *

6

* * *

Ron backed off, making a special effort to be supportive both at home and at work. He supplemented the diet McTavish had given him, which he felt was way too restrictive, when he did his rounds to vendors and went out to lunch. Unbeknownst to anyone, he also took a couple of trackers from the stock they had developed for the Auror Division, and put one in the bottom of Hermione’s purse and another into the hem of her warmest cloak just to keep a better eye on her. He checked the display of her whereabouts several times a day, especially at lunchtime.

Late one afternoon, he went to see Harry at the publisher. Just as he was about to step into the street from the alleyway he’d Apparated into, he noticed a familiar skinny blond kicking his heels in the park across the street. Ron watched as Harry came out and they greeted each other affectionately, none of the Muggles seemed to notice.

Ron pulled up the hood of his Muggle-style Anorak and followed them, knowing Grimmauld Place was less than a mile away. He ground his teeth as they laughed and bumped shoulders along the way. He and Harry used to walk like that when they were younger. Convinced they were going to Harry’s home, he ducked into a backyard and Apparated home.

* * *

The last weekend in February, Hermione said she had promised to go into work on Saturday.

She left promptly at nine, and while the kids were watching TV, Ron watched the tracker display. He was not really surprised to see she went to Executive Place. Ginny was at home for once and he got her to watch the kids before he followed Hermione to sodding Malfoy’s house.

There was no one in the office that he could see through the window. Muttering darkly, he broke the glass and let himself in. Rushing up the stairs to the flat before noticing if the wards had set off an alarm, he kicked the door open.

Hermione and Draco were on the couch behind a large stack of parchment and envelopes. They had their wands out immediately and then gaped at him. Ron cast Expelliarmus, grabbing the wands as they flew towards him.

“I knew you were lying to me!” he yelled.

“Look here, Weasley…” Draco began.

“Shut the fuck up!” Ron continued to yell.

“Ron!” Hermione called in a trembling voice. “What’s the matter with you? You’re acting like a crazy man.”

“Yeah? Really?” Ron growled approaching Hermione. Draco jumped in front of her and Ron punched him in the face. Draco went down onto his knees. “I knew you were lying, you bitch. ‘Had to go to work’, you said. I don’t see you at your desk, do I? Malfoy’s queer, but I guess he knows how to fuck a woman if it’s a good thing. What do you do, fast-track his clients through the Wizengamot?”

“What in holy hell is going on here?” Harry said, coming out of another room. He dropped the teacup in his hand, grabbed his wand and cast Immobulus on Ron. He walked up and took the wands out of Ron’s fist. He handed Draco’s back, and then gave Hermione hers and Ron’s wands, but he didn’t release the spell.

Shaking, Hermione said. “You want to know what the oh-so-bad thing we’re doing here is, Ron?” She picked up a stack of the parchment and flung it at Ron’s face, then a stack of envelopes to do the same. “We’re planning your birthday party, you bastard! See? Invitations! Envelopes! Lists of guests, and menus, and decorations!” For the first time in her life, she stomped her foot in frustration. “You know why Harry doesn’t come ‘round anymore? Because you’ve become a horror to know! Know why he and Draco have kept their relationship quiet? Because you’ve become the bully and the bigot. Oh, yes you have!” she added, although Ron couldn’t move to deny it. Large tears running down her face, Hermione moved in close to her husband. “I’ll send your stuff to the shop. You can sleep there. Don’t even try to come home again or see the children until you get some help, or I swear on Fred’s grave, you’ll never see any of us again.”

She turned towards Harry and Draco. “Sorry, sorry,” she said sobbing, throwing Ron’s wand at his head and Disapparating.

The room was silent save for the harsh, rasping breaths of the three men.

* * *

7

* * *

Once Harry Finite’d the spell, Ron dropped to the floor. Harry went to Draco and began murmuring spells to soothe the pain and prevent bruising. Draco clicked his tongue impatiently.

“Get off my floor, Weasley,” he said. “No one wants you here.”

Ron nodded brokenly, got to his feet and picked up his wand. “Sorry, Harry,” he said, pivoted and walked down the stairs and out of the building.

When Ron arrived at the service flat attached to the shop, his stuff was already there. He went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. There was not a scratch on him, but he felt battered and bruised. Wounded. He didn’t bother to do anything, simply walked out and fell into the old rocker in the front room. He sat there for a long time, watching the sunlight move across the wall. He was not hungry, he was not hot or cold, he didn’t move, and he didn’t think.

Eventually, he woke to George banging on the door and calling his name. “Leave me alone,” Ron screamed and heard George’s retreating footsteps in reply.

After that spurt of energy, Ron took a long over-hot bath and wept. He didn’t understand how it had come to this. He had been happy. Happy and blessed and had known it. He couldn’t understand how he let things get out of hand. Maybe he was sick, but no. He was an idiot, was what he was.

He slept on and off for almost a week. When he finally dressed for work, he found he’d lost two notches in his belt. Maybe he’d feel hungry again someday, but not yet. He stripped the sweat-soaked sheets and duvet and remade the bed. He could stop being a pig now. Maybe that would be number one of what will be a list he couldn’t see the end of yet.

He went into the main office of the shop and apologised to George. He didn’t promise to do better, he was not ready for that yet either.

He tackled the post that had accumulated on his desk, forcing himself to concentrate. He sent owls to his contacts saying he’d have to postpone his appointments and that he’d let them know when he could resume them.

He made a same-day appointment with Healer McTavish. Dully, he explained what had happened in his life. He didn’t elaborate or blame. McTavish nodded along with the recital.

“I can give you potions for depression and mania,” he said, “but that’ll just mask things for a while. You need a Mind-Healer. You’ve been going full-stop since the war. Before the war ended, in fact. You need to decompress and find outlets for your pain. It’s all about pain, young man. Until you can find some balance, you won’t get well. After that, you can repair the mess you’ve made and you’ll find—” He put a hand on Ron’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll find everyone will forgive you. They have not stopped loving you. They have _not_.”

Ron left and sat down on a bench near St Mungo’s. He snuffled a bit when he realised he’d missed his own birthday. Well, it was his own fault. Maybe that should be another number on his list; taking responsibility.

He owled the Mind-Healer McTavish recommended and got an appointment in a few days. He owled Hermione and told her he was going to try to get well, for real this time.

She didn’t owl back.

A few days later, Malfoy knocked on the open door to Ron’s office. “Come in,” Ron said and stood.

Malfoy entered, but didn't sit. “I’ve never liked you, Weasley,” Draco said. “You know that, and you have never liked me either. Nevertheless, Hermione has forgiven me. There is no sexual component between us, but I do admire her intellect and her heart. She has loved you, probably since she was eleven. Be worthy of that love again, Weasley.”

Ron nodded, even now he couldn’t give in and tell Malfoy he had the right of it.

Malfoy nodded back, tossed the two trackers onto Ron’s desk and left.

Ron sat, feeling a bit hopeful for the first time in a long, long while. “I’m trying,” he whispered to himself. “I’m trying.”

* * *

Later that evening at dinner, Harry cooked.

“I saw Weasley today,” Draco said, pouring the wine. “Told him to get off his fat arse and do better,”.

“Did he hex you?” Harry asked seriously.

Draco smiled, the wide white smile Harry loved best. “Nah, he nodded and I left.”

“Good,” Harry replied and toasted Draco, listening to the bell tone of the fine crystal knocking.

“It’ll take time, I’m sure. But they belong together and with the kids. If she can forgive me, she’ll be more than happy to forgive him.”

Draco sipped the deep red wine and Harry smiled.

“Yeah, she will, and so will I. And the rest will follow. Maybe in time for your birthday party.”

“Don’t you dare,” Draco began, but Harry left his chair and came to him, bending down and kissing him with ruby red lips.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Sin anthology](/series/1677472), a series of Drarry fics exploring the seven deadly sins.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2emrdGIthVVBwflHmUO4Yo?si=_dQ6V1ITQH-abE_5ChF3lw); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.


End file.
